Woodword
by Blazing Fool
Summary: Fran could not hear the voice of the Wood. Balthier supposed this was for the best. [Slight Balthier x Fran]


The Wood had been angry enough when the girl had left, naïve and headstrong, for the hateful world beyond. But it was when she returned that It grew truly furious. 

It was not uncommon for the Wood to lose Its daughters, heart-wrenching though it was to see them slip into the temptations of the outside. It was a recent phenomenon- for countless centuries the viera had observed and obeyed their place in the world. Or rather, their place_ out_ of it. But in the past hundred years more and more had been leaving. The Wood was angry, but not scared. It had adapted to cataclysmic changes over the course of time, and this was but the latest in a long line of mishaps.

But the others had been different. They were _true_ viera. Even after leaving, spouting their rebellious nonsense (for nonsense it was) , they clung to their innate natures. Solitary wanderers, looking down their noses at the savage world of the humes, they refused to bond with the war-mongering power-hungry fools. They would die alone and broken, friendless, longing for the peace and safety of the Wood's embrace. As well they should. Viera who left the forest were viera no longer, and could die the deaths of a thousand traitors for all It cared.

But this one… Fran, was her name… She was truly an insult. For she broke the rules, naughty child. She was not alone when she came back, but surrounded by companions.

A greasy man, brave of heart but filled with suffering and sin. Every step he took inside Its borders was a defilement, depositing his long history of sadness upon It against Its will. A stupid pig of a girl, blindly spouting hume nonsense. A rude and loquacious boy, whose every grating word stung like a piercing barb. A power-hungry princess (this one was especially dangerous) her eyes shining with lust for the stones. Her intent was written across her face like a book. And of course, the renegade herself.

They came here, dragging their hume sorrows like a sack of grain, ignoring the Wood's barriers and creatures. They came here, uninvited, demanding succor in their filthy hume tongue. Everything about them stank of war- _war_! Here! In the Wood, safe haven of peace and serenity! It was an affront to the gods who made it!

But this could be tolerated, for the Wood had survived and seen much in Its undying life. They would come, and they would go, and over time their memory would fade into the sands of time. For such was their fate- the fate of mortals.

It was the final member of their party, the silent one dressed in elegant swathes of sin, who drove the flaming lance of anger into the very heart of the Wood.

He reeked of civilization. He looked of civilization. He tasted of civilization. A city-dweller, a _noble,_ no less. Archadian. He smelled of technology, he smelled of long years spent in a laboratory (the very word made It ache in Its roots), he smelled of ignorance towards nature. _This _was what it was to be a hume. He was one of the war-makers, it mattered not that he had left them behind. For was he not advocating battle now? The very weapon he kept in his belt was a construct of a hume's dark ingenuity, a clever projectile weapon of metal and gunpowder. That such an abomination could be allowed within the Wood's borders…

This could be tolerated.

_He_ could be tolerated.

It could all be tolerated, every last ounce of the matter.

But the Wood had eyes. It had ears. It saw. It listened. It felt.

It saw the look the city man sent Its daughter Fran, a look speaking of years of trust and friendship. It saw the look she gave him, a gaze of devotion and hard-won respect.

It smelled the stench of the sky upon her, for he had taken her to the clouds in his machines. How many lustrous acts had been wrought in those clouds, high above the eyes of man and the Wood? How many times did he defile her, defile Its daughter? How many times? How many times? _How many-_

It heard the rough edge in her voice, matched by his. He had dragged her into battle, taught her to kill not for survival but for the humes' stupid wars. He had made her his slave, driven in combat, driven in dark airship bays, under the whip of love.

The Wood sensed it all, and It was driven into a fury.

This was a man who could ruin the culture. The man embodied all that tempted the viera away from Its loving embrace, the sins of the outside world. For men like this to walk freely within Its trees was an agony. It sent beasts, monsters wrought of earth and root and flesh to rend his bones, cast his soul back to the hell it had arrived from. To no avail. Beaten back every time, Its crude but powerful measures thwarted by the humes' clever weapons and magic of the gods.

For the Wood had survived much, but had survived only by the grace and care of the viera. To lose a few to men like this was terrible enough, but…

But what if he took them all?

The Wood would be left alone, the stagnant air unpierced by viera presence. No one to care for it, tend it, protect it. It would wither and droop, fallen into decay, to be wiped out by history's next assault.

It was all the fault of this man, his untethered world, and his horrible arsenal of even crueler weaponry. Love. Family. Motherhood. Companionship.

It reanimated the bones of a great wyrm, only to be stricken down. The Wood shrieked down to its roots in pain, every viera in the forest shivering at the noise, unheard by this evil band. It raised barriers to halt their path, crowing triumphantly before bellowing in rage. Lente's Tear! _They had Lente's Tear!_ Jote, Its beloved daughter, a traitor as well!

The voices of the Wood roared, sending birds scattering through the air. The viera cowered meekly as the band of humes and the renegade exiled made their way to the exit.

It had begun. The humes had come, and spread their corruption, Fran's fall from grace only a small weave in a tapestry of loss. The Wood was helpless, thrashing in anger.

The man's face, his hideous hume face, leered at it from the shadows, and It moaned in despair. The reins of Its history had slipped from Its hands for but a brief moment…

But for greedy, gold-snatching humes, a brief moment was more than enough to seize control.

--

The battle had been fierce, but Cure magic as invented for a reason. The great wood--beast had fallen, bullet wounds peppered across its gigantic head. Vaan had noted with his usual grace that Balthier had fought like a man possessed, but even the blond Dalmascan boy had not caught Balthier's face.

Fran had.

Basch had taken point as they departed, the line of trees opening into the grand horizon. Vaan and Penelo rushed out in their usual childlike way, happy to see the sky once more. Vaan's infatuation with it had rubbed off on the girl, it seemed.

As they walked ahead, forging their path across history but one step at a time, only Fran and Balthier lingered in the shadow of the forest. A claw-like branch poked the sky pirate in the small of his back. There had been no branches there before.

"You seem… troubled." Fran noted. Balthier frowned. "You fought… in a hurry. Why are you so anxious to leave Golmore?"

That was funny, Balthier thought.

After all, if a hume could hear that screaming, insane rage, you would expect a viera to, right?

He smiled in his way, teeth flashing and glimmering in the sunlight. He stepped over the line separating the shade of the trees from the sunlight of the outside, looking over at Fran as he did.

"I'm not big on nature."


End file.
